


Pop me open and spill it all out

by liliaeth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Support Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: Jackson didn't want to go to a support meeting, he wanted to stay home and feel like trash for what Matt had done to him, for what Matt had made him do. But his parents wouldn't leave him alone unless he got some kind of help. So here he was, forced to listen to others opening up their hearts about their misery.(Human au where the events of teen wolf are transferred to a non supernatural setting)





	Pop me open and spill it all out

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to whatthefridge for making this fic readable :-)

The house was quiet. 

Jackson wanted to slip away in the shadows. He wanted to stay in his room and never face anyone. But that would mean that Matt had won. 

His mother hesitated as she passed him, as if she wanted to pull him tight and hug him, and he pulled away from her before she could do so. His father smiled at him as he passed him on the way out, but Jackson wouldn't let the man touch him either.

He knew he should thank the man for pulling some strings, that if it weren’t for him, he’d be facing a lot more than some hours of public service, picking up trash by the side of he road. Jackson knew he deserved worse.

Jackson could feel the painful silence between them, and he hated himself for causing it. Knowing they wanted to ask him how he was doing, that they wanted to support him. But they couldn't, how could they possibly understand?

Jackson sat hunched down in the passenger seat, he’d slammed the door shut behind him. His dad had offered to let him drive, but the moment he even considered getting behind the wheel, it was like he was right back in that night. Feeling the steering wheel hit his head, even half out of his mind as he’d been. As if he could still feel the blood dripping down his face. 

It was getting dark, the lights offering just enough illumination to show his reflection in the glass. He barely recognized the monster whose face looked back at him. 

The meeting room looked appalling. It was painted in this drab green, with a couple of supposedly relaxing pictures on the wall that looked like they came from some old lady’s funeral parlor. Inoffensive to the point that it was painful on the eyes.

His dad was standing in the door, ready to ‘be there for him’, as if Jackson would ever want to talk about any of this crap while anyone who knew him was listening in on it. As if he ever wanted to talk about any of this, period. But it was the deal. Jackson would join the support group, and his parents would stop trying to get him to open up.

There were a bunch of other kids already seated in the circle, and Jackson could see from the look of them that they wanted to be there about as much as Jackson himself did. As if any of them could possibly understand what he felt like. Or just what Matt had done to him.

That’s when he saw him, the very last person he expected to see in a place like this. Scott McCall. Mister cheerful, one of the Beacon Hills Cyclones steadfast bench sitters and eternally first line hopefuls. Jackson snorted, as if Coach would ever let a kid on the team who couldn’t run a mile without hacking up his lungs half the way through. And yet McCall never let that stop him from trying out. Jackson hated how McCall had used Jackson’s own … distraction, to push himself into Lydia’s life, sucking up to her in some way that made her trust him, instead of Jackson.

Lydia hadn’t even been willing to tell him why she was now with sitting McCall and his friends: Allison Argent, Lydia’s new best friend, and that nitwit, Stilinski, the sheriff’s son. Acting as if those losers were her ‘real’ friends while Jackson, who’d finally come back to school after a month of absence, felt like the odd man out with his own girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend or whatever she was now. 

He couldn’t even blame her for it, because he’d broken up with her. 

He’d been the one to slam that door shut, right when he’d most wanted to end it all and just stop existing. Lydia had tried at first, she’d come by those first few days, weeks even. But he’d refused to see her, refused to talk to her. Even when she desperately begged him to talk to her.

But how could he? How could she possibly understand? Lydia controlled any room she was in, no one would even think of hurting her, it had been the best thing he could do for her, cutting the baggage so she could move on. 

She still didn’t forgive him for the text.

Seeing McCall, anyone from school, it made him want to turn around and get right back out of the room. His father noticed and came up to him. 

“It’ll be fine, son. We’re so proud of you for doing this.” 

Jackson cringed at the words, David Whittemore didn’t seem to care, patting him on the shoulder. 

“This will help.” the man said. “I’m sure of it.”

He finally left when Jackson was almost ready to beg him to let them both leave. So Jackson moved to the snack table instead. 

The coffee served there was a disgrace, as if they were trying to traumatize him all over again.

“Please tell me they aren’t pretending this stuff is actually drinkable?” Jackson almost spit out the muddy water they had the guts to call coffee.

“The tea is slightly better?” said a voice, soft and quiet as always, as if the owner of that voice wasn’t sure what to say, it made him snort in disgust.

Jackson didn’t turn around. 

“There’s also juice if you want some,” McCall offered. 

That’s when Jackson saw it. Some cheap store brand. It couldn’t be worse than the coffee, right? There were two juice cartons, one opened, one still closed. He took the closed one, opened it up and poured some of it in a glass.

“What are you doing here, McCall? Keeping an eye on me for Coach, making sure I don’t slip out.” Coach had told him he’d have to work at it to keep his place as team captain, as if any of the others could possibly be a threat to him. 

“What? No. No. I’m here ‘cause... I guess for the same reason you are?”

“I didn’t think your Mom had any trouble getting you to cry your heart out,” Jackson snarled.

Scott stood there, just taking his words. His hands tightened into fists. His mouth sharpened, till he eyed Jackson, bit his lip and looked down, staring at his shoes. “I’m here because… because of what happened with Peter Hale.” Scott almost whispered the name, his shoulders tensed up and Jackson… Jackson flinched … he wanted to do something to take it all back. He didn’t.

He remembered the name alright. Hale, the richest family in town, the most prestigious one as well. Until a few months ago when it had been revealed that a member of the family had been arrested for multiple sexual assault allegations of minors. The police had shielded the name of the minors involved.

There was talk about how some kids had tricked Hale, a well known celebrity in town. After all, a guy that hot hardly needed to coerce anyone to get what he wanted.

Except… Jackson knew all too well how easy it was to become a victim, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

“So you brought down the Hales?”

Scott took another bag of tea, fiddling with it between his fingers, before putting it down again. 

“They said you guys got a million dollar settlement just to keep from going public to the press.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to go public anyway.” Scott muttered.

“I’m sure.” Jackson turned away from him. He couldn’t help but agree. After what Matt had done to him, telling people about it, any people, was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.  
His therapist disagreed. So here he was, in the local PTSD and trauma meeting group. His parents still held out hope that listening to other people’s misery would get him to open up. He was about as interested in the whole experience, as he was in working in that soup kitchen his mother liked to volunteer at. 

Less so.

The group leader, a black woman named Dr. Morell, called them all to come sit, and Jackson noticed that the one place that stayed empty was right next to Scott. Another guy was sitting on Scott’s other side, but the man mostly seemed to be darting his eyes around, as if he wasn’t sure where he’d ended up.

Dad had finally left, and Jackson grabbed the chair and sat down, daring anyone to say anything, or try and get him to talk. They didn’t.

Morell asked people if anyone wanted to talk, no one did. Awkward, but then, who ever wanted to be the first to let a whole bunch of strangers hear their sob stories. “So Tracy, last week you told us about those Dreamcatchers your father got you?”

When some girl started talking about how her night terrors had been getting worse, Jackson sank down in his chair, grateful for the reprieve. Morell gave him a look, but thankfully she didn’t call him out, didn’t even make him introduce himself. As if she knew he’d make a break for it if she tried. With the kind of money his dad paid her, she probably did. 

Listening to all the whining and bitching of people grated on his last nerve. They were different from him, he wasn’t like them, he wasn’t a victim, he was filth. How was he supposed to relate to any of their crap. 

He wasn’t a victim, he couldn’t possibly be that weak, that pathetic, that…

He got out of his chair and ran out of the meeting, grabbing his phone and calling his father before he was even fully out of the room. 

When his dad did arrive, he didn’t ask questions, he just opened the door of the passenger seat and let Jackson get in. They didn’t speak all the way home. No one brought up the support group all week, until it was time. Jackson didn’t even fight his father when the man offered to drive him over again.

He sat down in the circle, listened to the others talking. Trying not to let their words get into his head. It didn’t help. Scott had offered him a closed off juice carton when he arrived. Jackson accepted it, but he stared at the lid, making sure it was still unopened. It was. He still had to force himself to drink of it.

Jackson wasn’t sure what it was about Scott. The guy seemed to be there for everyone else in the group. One day he’d be reminding Corey about his recital, the next he’d be encouraging Meredith’s rambling. Jackson knew he couldn’t do it. It was all he could do to stay put and sit through an entire session. 

But not Scott, Scott was the fucking master of avoidance. Fucking Scott McCall had to be everyone else’s savior, to such a degree that no one seemed to care that Scott never talked about himself, or his pain, or what he went through. He was so damn good at it, that even Morell herself hadn't realized it yet.

Everyone seemed to know that it had something to do with Peter Hale, but that was about all you’d get out of the guy. So busy momming everyone else, that it made them forget about badgering him on his issues. Jackson wished he could bring himself to do the same. Make himself care enough about others, so they’d stop trying to get him to talk.

Jackson gave in on his fourth meeting. By that point he no longer cared what they’d think of him. Instead he slammed down his Nespresso, made his own coffee and sipped a halfway decent cup before putting the Press back into the box so no one else could ruin it.

When Morell noticed the smell, she lifted her eyebrow at it, but didn’t say a word. Tracy and Violet glared at him for a second before ignoring it. The next meeting after it, Tracy had a bottle of soda with her, and Violet was sharing a bag of candy with the people next to her.

Meredith was the only one actually drinking the coffee available.

Scott talked to Violet after the meeting. Jackson noticed her falling in his arms. There was a sense of understanding between them after. Jackson walked past Erica who was fixing her makeup in the little sink next to the toilets. She was way overusing the eyeliner, and her use of concealer was so thick it offended him. She’d glared at him when he mentioned something about it. Yet by the time they left, he noticed she’d fixed the amount, making her look less orange. 

She gave him a nod, he pretended not to see it.

Corey didn’t show up for two meetings, when he returned, Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder, told him he was glad the kid had returned. Corey seemed stunned that Scott had even noticed he’d been missing in the first place.

Jackson still didn’t talk in group, he still tried not to listen, and Scott… Scott acted as if he was part of things. Offering a supportive comment when needed, saying just the right thing for everyone else, that didn’t really teach you anything about him, or his issues, or what he was going through.

Jackson was starting to hate that smile on the other boy’s face. He wished he could say it was fake. But he knew about fake smiles, and there was nothing fake about that smile, just a kid forcing himself to be happy with what he had, because giving up hope, accepting that the world sucked, would be even worse.  
#

Dad was working some big case, and Jackson told him he could drive to his next meeting himself. The man almost jumped at the chance to push the keys in Jackson’s hands. Both him and Mom so eager to see Jackson get back behind the wheel, as if his problems would be gone if he did. They wouldn’t. 

It took him half an hour before he could bring himself to turn the key and start the car. Watching every traffic signal, every stop sign, refusing to pass through anything that wasn’t a green light, and checking left and right before he left even then. 

Cars behind him let him know just what they thought of him for going so far below the speed limit. He’d have given them the finger if his fingers weren’t clinging to the wheel for dear life.  
By the time he got to the building, he was half an hour late.

He walked through the hall, up to the meeting room, they hadn’t waited for him. Of course they hadn’t, they probably figured he’d given up. Expecting him to just skip out and fail. But Jackson wasn’t a quitter. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t pathetic, he wasn’t.

“I didn’t think I’d ever…” Jackson stopped at the sound of Scott’s voice ringing through the door before he was even in the room. “Stiles and I were working as elves for the charity Santa set up at the hospital. My Mom works at the hospital. And she’d told me they needed some elves to help out Dr Geyer who was playing Santa that year. It was cheaper for the hospital than to hire people for it.And Peter, he… he was a member of the medical board at the hospital. He… he’d offered to help with the Christmas celebrations. Rich people do that sometimes, it makes them look better, makes them feel like they contribute.”

Jackson wanted to glare at him, wanted to glare at Scott’s voice breaking as he spoke.

“I didn’t like Peter from the start. I know that sounds…” 

Jackson remembered Matt, he’d been working for the school paper, taking pictures of the team. The guy had been a creep from the start, hanging out in the locker room, at the field, always staring at them. And as much as Jackson knew just how hot he was, Matt always pushed it just that little bit too far.

“The thing about Peter, is that he can act pleasant, when he wants to, when he wants to charm you. But there’s always a note of manipulation to it, like you can just feel he’s trying to get something out of you. But the hospital needed his money, so when he asked my help to go get a last bag of gifts for the kids, I just couldn’t say no.”

It was as if Scott’s words were playing behind Jackson’s eyes, only putting Matt’s face instead of Peters. And the closer Scott’s words slipped to his own nightmares, the more Jackson wanted to run and hide. His breathing grew harsher, heavier. He slipped down against the wall, it was getting cold.

“I remember the door falling shut, I heard the lock falling in place, and when I turned around, he pushed me against the wall. I wasn’t strong enough. I shouldn’t have gone with him, but he…He told me I was nothing, that I was lucky that he was willing to waste his time on me. That I should thank him for it. I didn’t, and then he told me, if I ran, if I tried to tell anyone, he’d tell everyone how I’d pissed him off, how he’d be cutting the funding the clinic, because of me, because of me, because I wouldn’t do this one tiny thing for him.”

Jackson refused to keep listening, he pushed open the door and slammed in, Scott stopped as he saw Jackson. How could Scott talk about something like that, as if it was alright to say those kind of things. As if he weren’t filth for letting someone touch him, push him down, use him…

“Oh shut up.” He spat out. “You think you’re such a victim? Oh boohoo, let’s sit around and listen how there was an idiot who was stupid enough to let some high roller make him a whore."

Scott stared up at him, tried to say something, but Jackson wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“A pretty face who thought he was the center of the universe,” Jackson went on, “who now hopes to get everyone to like him by crying over what he never should have done in the first place. 

The words kept coming, cutting words, biting snark, tearing into himself with every syllable, as he stared at Scott who cringed under the attack, growing smaller and smaller with every passing second. When Jackson finally ran out of breath, the entire group looked like they were hit by a storm and Jackson’s knees were buckling.

Dr. Morell got up from her chair and approached him. “Jackson.” 

She didn’t seem angry, didn’t tell him to shut up, as if she was going to be understanding. He turned away from her and ran. He just jumped into his car, slammed the door shut and drove off. He wasn’t even sure where he was driving, just that he had to go, had to escape. 

Matt’s words kept ringing through his head.

“You know you enjoy it,” Matt has said. “This is my justice, Jackson, it’s what I deserve. It’s what you deserve, to know that you’re nothing, nothing but what I make you.”

Jackson shivered thinking too much, too deeply. Trying to remember he’d barely even known Matt. Remembering the soda Matt had offered him, how the taste had been off.

“I can see the way you look at me, the way you reacted when I touched you, when my hand touched yours.”

He had to force the wheel to avoid hitting someone. Oh God no, not again. His car slid in a parking space and he sat behind the wheel, breaking out in shakes. 

“You just needed a little boost to get over yourself and that false pride and macho attitude of yours. But you know you want this. You know you like this.”

Jackson rubbed his hands on his pants, feeling dirty just being in this place, the stench of exhaust ports of the cars passing by. The dirt and puddles in the grass around him, staring at the car, unable to even consider starting it up again..

“Just give me a kiss, Jacks. Give me a kiss and go home, and make sure you remember every last part of this.”

His hands moved to his ears, desperate not to hear the crunch of his Porsche hitting into a sedan, staring through the broken windshield, too dazed to move. He opened his eyes. The car was fine, he was fine. He hadn’t hit anyone, not this time, not now. No one had died, not because of him.

“Are you alright?”

Jackson got up, glaring at the voice coming from beside the car. 

He stared up, glaring at the face beside him. The sheriff. Jackson wanted to say something, but he couldn't, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Not until the man told him to breathe, told him everything was alright. But it wasn’t, it just wasn’t.

The sheriff brought him home. They left the Porsche behind. With Jackson’s luck, the car would be stolen before his dad could get back to it. His dad and the sheriff were talking as Jackson ran to his room. Jackson slammed the door shut.

When his mom came upstairs, opened the door and sat down next to him, he wanted to yell at her to leave, but he couldn't. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He just knew he was.

########

He stayed home from school the next day, when he went back the day after, people stopped and stared at him. Like they could see how much of a mess he was.

Class, lunch, class, and just when he was starting to lose himself in the humdrum of life, there she was Lydia. Gorgeous as ever. Untouchable as ever.

Standing in front of him, pissed.

“You fucking asshole.” She didn’t hit him, she didn’t yell, she just glared at him while slowly saying those words. 

“Lydia, I have no idea what your problem is.”

“You…” She stood there, a tiny engine of rage. And all he could do was try and think what he’d done to piss her off this time.“Did you even think of what you did at the meeting? How what you did would hurt Scott?”

Jackson froze. “How do you?”

“Meredith told me.”

“So I yelled at Scott. He’s a big boy, he can take it.”

“Jackson, do you know how long it’s taken for Scott to say a single word about what happened to Peter, outside of talking to the cops? Do you know how hard it is for him to ask people to pay attention to him, his feelings? Just because you’re hurting, doesn’t mean you have the right to lash out at others and tear them to pieces along with you.”

Jackson stared at her, not understanding. If McCall had such a hard time talking to anyone, then how did Lydia know.

“You’re not the only one who went through hell. You expect all of us to walk on eggshells around you. And then you go and tread all over someone else who’s already broken. I always knew you were a bit of an ass Jacks. But I never thought you were a monster.”

She stormed off before he could respond, and he stared after her in stunned shock.

All day it was like everyone wanted to remind him of how much of an ass he was. If it weren’t Stilinski ready to kick the crap out of him during practice. (As if Jackson couldn’t push him over at the push of a finger), or a bunch of kids glaring at him during lunch. Turns out one of them was Corey who was usually oh so easy to ignore. 

It’s like all over the school he was suddenly persona non grata. Even Danny was giving him the cold shoulder. And the one person that Jackson did want to see, was nowhere around.

He didn’t run into Scott until AP Bio. Scott was… almost unrecognizable. As if someone had kicked the life out of him. That someone being him. Jackson wasn’t even sure what to say to him. If there was anything he could say or do.

It wasn’t his fault that Scott was too sensitive, he was supposed to be Scott McCall, everyone’s shoulder to cry on. Scott was the one who was supposed to be good at reading people. He should know that Jackson hadn’t been talking about him. How could he not? He couldn’t be that much of an idiot, could he?

He kept trying to keep an eye on McCall over the next few days. Seeing him sitting with Lydia in the library, and having her give him the evil eye. Watching him at lacrosse, even more lackluster than ever. Puffing in his inhaler like his life depended on it. Watching that kid that hung out with Corey ask him something, he couldn’t help but notice how Scott forced himself to get up, not for himself, but for others.

But it’s like that story of the giving tree, in the end, everyone’s well could run dry, especially when some idiot put a dam in the way.

He figured he could at least try and apologize to Scott. After all, McCall hadn’t really deserved those words, and maybe it might make people stop glaring at him as if he ruined Christmas.

But whenever he tried to get close to Scott, someone seemed to step in between them. As if they expected him to go off on the other teen all over again. Jackson was ready to explode if anyone else got in his way again.

He wasn’t the bad guy here, he wasn’t Matt. He didn’t want to force himself on McCall, he just wanted to talk to him, to tell him he was sorry, was that so bad?

She got to him just as he was going down the stairs, trying to catch up with McCall before he got into Stilinskis car.

“Don’t you know when you’re unwanted, Jackson?”

“I just want to talk to him, Lydia.”

“Why?”

“To tell him I wasn’t talking about him, damn it.”

“You think he doesn’t know that?”

“Well he’s not acting like it. If he knows then…”

“Jackson, do you know what kind of man Peter Hale was? What exactly it was that he did?”

“No. But I’m going to assume you do?”Jackson glare froze under her gaze. “Let me guess, you felt left out when I didn’t want to tell you my deepest darkest fears, so you went and decided to listen to McCall instead.”

She looked like she wanted to slap him, as if the only thing stopping her, was the risk that she might break a nail doing so.

“It’s not all about you,” she said, her voice low and cold, shredding through him like a whip.

“Lydia?”

“Scott wasn’t… he wasn’t Peter’s only victim.”

He knew that, the suit had after all mentioned multiple minors.

“He was just the only one ... of us, who had the strength to go to the police and stop it. The only one who… who ended it. We were all victims, but Scott, he helped us become survivors instead. If it weren’t for him… Peter Hale would have just continued on his way, off to his next obsession, off to hurt some other kid too desperate, too nice, too broken to say no.”

“Which one were you?” Jackson said the words before he could stop himself.

Lydia was about to turn her back on him, and Jackson knew, just knew that if he let her go, that she’d never talk to him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she crossed her arms.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

She was still waiting.

“And I shouldn’t have said what I did to McCall, to Scott either.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She sat down on the stairs, and he sat down next to her.

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t talk to people, Jackson. They don’t tell you things.”  
He flinched, knowing he’d deserved that.

“Then tell me now?”

She looked at him, tears forming in her eyes.

“We might not be dating anymore, but we were always friends, Lydia. I like to think I still am.”

######

It was weird going into group meeting the next week, realizing how many of them had been going to his own school, that he hadn’t even noticed before.

McCall was at the drink station, grabbing a soda before things started.

Jackson went up to him. He didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t used to being wrong enough to have to apologize to anyone. Scott offered him a closed of juice carton again, and he accepted the peace offering.

“I know I’m not a whore, Jackson. But Peter… he had a way of making you feel like one.” Scott closed his eyes as he spoke softly. Jackson wanted to tell Scott not to let himself be told what to do by some bastard millionaire who was apparently so desperate he had to force teens into having sex with him to get off. Instead he kept his mouth shut.

He remembered what Lydia told him about Peter gaslighting her, how Peter had used her, tried to trick her, tried to seduce her, and when that didn’t work, and she was threatening to get help, he’d made her believe that no one would care.

“I didn’t really want all this attention,” Scott said even more softly. 

Jackson opened his carton, taking a sip. It was one of the things he hated about what Matt had done to him. He’d always wanted to be the center of attention, to be the big star that everyone cared about. Matt had twisted that, had made him the subject of pity instead. Now getting the spotlights turned on him burned, and he couldn’t get out of it fast enough.

Scott shivered, Jackson didn’t flinch under the other boy’s glare until Scott closed his eyes, before putting his hand on the table, as if to keep from crumbling. Jackson pulled in a chair and sat down..

Jackson knew Scott was taller than him. With Jackson sitting down, he should be towering over him. He didn’t.

“Peter, he… has a way of getting in your head. To make you believe what he’s saying. He told me no one would believe me, that no one would care. After all, he’s a rich philanthropist, why would someone like him possibly need to attack a nobody like me?”

Jackson remembered how hard it had been to get the cops to believe that he hadn’t willingly taken those drugs, that he hadn’t willingly gone with Matt, that he hadn’t…

“My Mom liked him, she thought he just wanted to help the kids. And if I chased him off, got him arrested, then he’d take his money with him. I felt filthy, like he was buying my silence. But if I said something the hospital would lose everything, they might have to close down the children’s wing, the programs, everything my Mom worked on. And I just… I didn’t want to…I was nothing, and he was older and smarter and maybe I was just stupid for letting him do so.”

“And then he went after Lydia.”

“He started messing with her head like he did with me. Lydia’s the strongest person I know, and he just… I couldn’t let him destroy her, couldn’t let him do it to her, not when I could save her.”

“He shouldn’t have done it to you either.”

“So my therapist keeps telling me.”

“Maybe you should stop being stupid and start believing it.”

“And maybe the next time you speak up, you should do so in your own name.

“As if.”

Maybe.

Jackson stared at the circle.

“Maybe some day.”

There wasn’t anything Jackson could do to make Scott feel any better. But maybe he could try.

“I’ve got too much coffee today,” Jackson said. “You can have some. If you want.”

Scott smiled at him.

It didn’t make up for what Jackson had said. But actions were better anyway. 

As Scott was sipping on his newly made coffee, Jackson sank down on his chair, trying not to blame himself. It didn’t work. 

Scott was looking better though, and that was something.


End file.
